


Amaryllis

by RisingPhoenix761



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Spectrum, Demisexuality, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Respect to the demisexual community!, Slow Burn, Social Awkwardness, Weird Coincidences, chapter titles are song lyrics, hangovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingPhoenix761/pseuds/RisingPhoenix761
Summary: She wasn't necessarily in their plans. They definitely weren't in hers. Yet between fate, coincidence, a few misadventures and some small favors, plans don't count for much anyway, do they?





	1. A Cue To Turn And Run

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Guess what today is? Today happens to be my birthday. *throws confetti* It seemed like the perfect time to start posting this idea I've had for awhile...an idea I'm still not entirely sure what I'm going to do with but just couldn't sit idle with either. I've only got a few vague notions, so we're gonna wing it, okay?

_I never knew_

_I never knew that everything was falling through_

_That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue to turn and run_

_When all I needed was the truth_

I consider myself a pretty boring girl. I don't like parties, I prefer painting to people, I never miss an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , and my idea of a night out is...well, a night in.

Against my better judgment, I finally caved when some of the girls at work wanted me to go out after our shift ended, and we wound up at some dive in South Boston where half the people hanging out spoke with a legit Irish brogue, and while I'd like to say I resisted peer pressure and declined every drink offered to me, my mother didn't raise a liar. It's a shame she didn't, because while I'd also like to say I have at least a _decent_ tolerance for alcohol, the truth is that the last thing I remember clearly was my third shot of whiskey. After that, I got nothing.

I woke up in my tiny bedroom in my slightly-less-tiny apartment the next morning, totally unsure how I got there and with a headache from hell. I groaned as I rolled out of bed and the movement made my brain throb; for once, I was glad I didn't have a window. Sunlight in my state? No thank you. After struggling with my doorknob a minute or two, I flung open the door and shuffled across the hallway to the bathroom and brushed my teeth...then brushed them again after puking my guts out.

No more nights out with the gals!

I paused after turning off the faucet, suddenly alert to sounds in the apartment. My roommate Corrie worked nights at a radio station and often puttered around in the kitchen before going to bed, but it was too early for her to be back yet... Heart hammering, I slowly crept out of the bathroom and peeked around the corner into the kitchen.

There was a man in there! He looked up as I looked around and there was barely a second for eye contact before I let out a terrified shriek and bolted to the bathroom again, slamming the door shut and locking it.

"Sorry!" I heard him call on the other side of the door. "So sorry, I didn't mean ta startle ye!"

"Who are you!" I burst out. "What are you doing here! How did you get in here!" I looked down at the doorknob, held on by two rusty screws, and the cheap hook-and-eye latch that served as a lock. If he tried to break in here, it wouldn't be much trouble for him. I looked around for a weapon and seized the plunger, holding it like a baseball bat. "Get out now," I yelled, "or I'm calling the cops!"

"Should I bring ye the phone from the kitchen, then? Unless ye have one in there with ye."

Fuck!

I tightened my hold on the plunger, ready to swing if that door budged. "Maybe I do," I answered, trying to sound confident. "I wouldn't want to find out, if I were you!"

"Phil, just calm down a second, would ye—"

"How do you know my name?"

"Ye told me at the bar last night."

Huh?

"I'm Connor. We met at McGinty's."

Connor...Connor...I scrambled my already-rattled brain trying to match a face to the name, and finally settled on a young Irishman, dark blonde hair standing up in all directions, the bluest eyes ever to blue, and a charming smile I felt stupid for forgetting in the first place. I have no idea how you're supposed to rate guys, but I know a ten when I see one. I mean... _damn_.

But I still wasn't about to open the door.

"Remember?" he prompted.

"Yeah," I said. "So, what, did you follow me home, or something?"

"Not exactly..."

My stomach dropped and I almost threw up again. Oh no. Oh no no no. Please, God, _please_ tell me I didn't bring this guy home from the bar with me, not some random stranger when I was too drunk to think straight...

"Ye had a few too many an' ye nearly passed out at the bar, so I found yer address in yer purse an' called a cab for ye. I walked ye up as yer flatmate was leavin, an' she offered me yer couch for a few hours."

Swell. Corrie left me drunk and alone with a guy in the place with me. "I'll have to have a talk with her," I muttered.

"Don't be too hard on her, aye? She made sure ta lock yer door before she left an' promised she'd hunt me down an' feed me my own balls if I tried anythin."

"Don't defend her," I told him, though now that he mentioned it, part of my struggle with my bedroom door _did_ involve the lock...

"Look, ye probly feel like shite right now," he said, "an' I was tryin ta make ye some coffee before I left, but I can't find a fuckin thing in yer kitchen. If ye want me ta go, fine, I don't blame ye. Can't imagine I'd be too happy ta wake up ta strangers breakin down me front door."

I still held onto the plunger, thinking it over. Sure, he _seemed_ nice enough, but he could be a serial killer for all I knew, trying to lure me out with a hangover cure. Though as long as I had a few questions for him, I didn't necessarily want him to go. "You said you called me a cab last night. What else happened?"

"Nothin. Some fellas at the bar looked like they were gettin ideas, an' I just wanted ta see ye home safe."

"Are you always such a knight in shining armor?"

"Fuck no. Ma always taught me brother an' I ta be decent, is all."

Well, he played the sainted Irish mother card, and I _think_ that's supposed to be a big deal. I checked my clothes and found I was still wearing the same shit as last night and while nothing appeared out of place, how would I know if he was lying to me or not? "Swear on your mother's life, nothing else happened?" I asked.

"Fuckin hell, sweetheart, I'll swear it on me immortal soul, if it puts ye at ease."

Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't, but a Mexican standoff sure wasn't helping. I unlatched the door and pushed it open, taking the plunger with me as I cautiously walked out of the bathroom.

He stood nearby but backed away as I came out, keeping his distance. He showed no reaction to my weapon of choice, though I felt more and more idiotic the longer I held onto it, and his tone when he spoke was as soft and coaxing as if trying to calm a spooked horse. "I'll leave now if ye want, if ye're not comfortable with me bein here."

Honestly, there was a little part of my brain still screaming _stranger danger!_ but the rest of me was just, well, screaming. Aching head, unsettled stomach, the whole nine yards. It must have showed on my face because he added, "At least let me make ye that coffee. It might help ye feel more like yerself."

I nodded and instantly regretted it as my head throbbed. Setting the plunger aside, I went into the tiny little cubicle of a kitchen and started searching the cabinets. Connor followed me as far as the Mr. Coffee machine on the counter and emptied the old grounds out of the filter basket, then paused, hovering over the trash can. "Looks like bad news, darlin," he said, reaching into the trash and lifting the empty can of Folgers where I could see it.

I groaned pitifully and he went on, "Tell ye what, do ye mind if I take ye ta get some breakfast? It beats the fuck outta tryin ta cook for yerself when ye're langered."

"Langered?"

"Drunk off yer fuckin arse."

I almost muttered something about "not _that_ drunk" but didn't have it in me to argue about it. And whether he sensed he'd won or was confident of victory in the first place, he said, "If ye wanna get changed, I'll use yer bathroom an' we can go."

Shrugging, I went back into my bedroom and through the walls I heard Connor close the bathroom door. I locked my door, just to be careful, then looked over at my cat curled up on my bed. I was ninety-five percent sure he'd been on his own corner at the foot when I woke up, but in my absence he had moved to my pillow and was staring at me as if daring me to do something about it.

"Jerk," I told him, but he only blinked at me, tucking his paws under his body and swishing his tail, sweeping a piece of paper off the edge of the pillow. I reached for it, wondering how I'd missed it earlier, and found a note from my roommate.

_Junior, what the fuck did you do last night? Don't freak out, the guy who brought you home said his name is Connor and he was a concerned party saving your drunk ass from creeps who might press their advantage. Sorry to leave you, but I have to go to work. He seems okay, but I'm locking you in so again, don't freak out. And chica, you better get his number, for Christ's sake! If you don't want him, I do! C_

Gee. Thanks, Corrie.

I didn't bother fussing over my clothes, picking my most comfortable pair of jeans and a black tank top, throwing my go-to red flannel over it. I didn't care what my hair was doing, either, combing it out with my fingers and sliding a scrunchie over my wrist in case of emergency. Clean socks and ratty Chucks later, and I was good to go. I grabbed my purse and gave Jerry a quick scratch, then left.

Connor was waiting at the front door, his coat draped over his arm. He didn't say a word as we walked out, breaking the silence as I was locking the door behind us. "Is there someplace close, or should we call another cab?"

"There's a Waffle House around the corner," I answered, and while it wasn't usually my first choice, it was as far as I was willing to go. The sunlight as soon as we stepped out into it was enough to make me think twice about going back inside, and I winced as it made my headache worse.

"Here."

I shielded my eyes with my hand and saw Connor offering me his sunglasses from the pocket of his coat. I took them gratefully with a word of thanks and he shot me that smile. " _Tá fáilte romhat_ ," he replied. "Seen that look a million times on me brother after a long night at the local. Ye're not much for drinkin, are ye?"

"Never saw the appeal," I answered.

"I see."

We fell silent, the awkward silence of strangers, but I wasn't built for small talk, so I said nothing. It wasn't until we got to Waffle House that he finally said, "Be right back, sweetheart. I'm just givin my brother a call."

"Sure. You know, you don't have to babysit me."

Damn, Phil. Way to sound like an asshole.

He smiled again, seeming unbothered. "Aye, lass, just bein polite. 'Twas my idea ta come out here, after all."

"Right, right, sorry—"

"No worries. An' don't stand on my account. Find yerself a seat."

I nodded and headed for the counter, picking a stool in the middle of a line of vacancies. The waitress behind the counter approached and I ordered myself a coffee, then one for Connor after a moment's consideration, and dove into my cup as soon as she set it in front of me.

Ah, sweet, dark nirvana...

Connor returned and gestured to the stool beside me. "Do ye mind if I join ye?" he asked.

I pushed his coffee towards him in answer and he sat down. "Ye're an angel, love."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far..."

"Still. Thoughtful of ye."

"Just returning a favor," I told him, taking off his sunglasses and handing them back to him.

We ordered breakfast—the greasier, the better for a hangover, he assured me—and went back to silence for a few minutes. I doubt I could have kept up my end of a conversation if I tried; socially awkward on ordinary days, breakfast with a guy who brought me home after a random night out was a little over my head. It didn't seem to bother him, though. He told me a thing or two about himself, cracked a few jokes, just enough to keep things from getting weird without pushing me to contribute. Hardly for the sake of hearing himself talk, more like trying to keep me entertained and comfortable, and I wondered how antisocial I must have been at the bar to need entertainment and comfort.

"I hope ye don't mind," he said after awhile, "but my brother's gonna be poppin in pretty soon. I told him he might as well grab a bite before we head ta work."

"Okay," I replied.

"Ye kinda remind me of him a bit," he confessed. "He's a little shy an' keeps ta himself around new people, an' it's a whole other story if he likes ye...or if he's had a few."

"What?' I asked, wondering if he was teasing me—he did end up seeing me home, after all. "What does that mean?"

"Nothin too awful," he replied, "just that I'm havin a hard time adaptin ta this quiet girl when I met Phil Friedman, Jr. last night an' she was havin the time a her life."

Phil Friedman, _Jr.?_ Did I tell him that story? By the way my head felt like I'd stuck it in an oven, I was blushing like crazy and suddenly my behavior the night before was a matter of grave concern.

He saw my face and repeated, "Nothin too awful, love. Ye talked ta anyone who'd listen about art an' music...also like me dearest brother, ta be honest..."

I nodded, feeling a little better.

"Speak a the fuckin devil," he added, looking past me to the door and waving at a new arrival. I turned to look and saw a dark-haired young man with an intense, interesting face and a stubborn, defiant set to his shoulders, and I felt a jolt as I realized I'd seen him before.

_"Murphy?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Over My Head (Cable Car)" by the Fray


	2. Strange To See You Again

_God, that was strange to see you again_

_Introduced by a friend of a friend_

_Smiled and said yes, I think we've met before_

I couldn't believe it. Eyes just as blue and beautiful as the guy's next to me went from the guy, to me, and back again. It was Murphy, and I had a feeling this was about to get awkward.

Connor looked at me, then at his brother. "Ye've met before, I take it?" he asked.

"Aye," Murphy replied, turning his eyes on me again. "Nice ta see ye, Phil."

"Yeah," I said. "Nice to see you, too."

Oh boy.

Murphy remained standing, occasionally looking sideways at me, Connor kept looking back and forth between us, and as for me, I was having a hard time looking either of them in the eye. "Might as well sit, Murph," Connor told his brother after a long, uncomfortable minute.

Murphy pulled up a stool on Connor's other side and the waitress took his order, leaving a silence behind her when she stepped away from the counter. I focused all of my attention on my breakfast, though managing my fork was suddenly a task in itself as my awkwardness seemed to have physically manifested itself and made me all thumbs.

"Well, I was gonna introduce the two a ye," Connor said, his voice as casual and calm as if nothing weird was happening, "but no need for that, aye? Murph, Phil an' I met at Doc's last night—"

I could swear I felt Murphy staring at me from down the counter.

"But how d'ye know each other?"

"We've met a few times," Murphy answered. "How's things at work, Phil?"

I swallowed hard and said, "Not too bad."

"Where do ye work?" Connor asked amiably.

"A local café. Coffee, music, art people, kind of an underground thing..."

He nodded thoughtfully, then paused as if something had just occurred to him. He turned to Murphy and said, " _An é seo an cailín?"_

Murphy nodded. " _Tá sí_."

I had no idea what they were saying, but I could guess who they were talking about.

I worked at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where the clientele consisted mainly of neighborhood misfits. It wasn't a huge place and we were in direct competition with Dunkin Donuts up the street, but we were home to poets, musicians, painters, and the like. Art people. I liked the vibe of the place and there was no telling what kind of people you would meet every day.

Like this dark and broody Irish guy who wandered in a few months ago and caught the eye of every female in the joint—probably a few males as well, to be honest. He almost seemed to be there by accident, like he hadn't meant to wind up there but anyone trying to challenge him could get lost. There was the foundation of a scowl on his not-quite-model, not-quite-boy-next-door face and he seemed edgy to me, like someone not used to being alone and thrown off course at finding himself that way. If it had crossed my mind, I would have said that was how he wound up there in the first place, because he didn't know what else to do. We were friendly to him and tried to make him feel less like the outsider he appeared to be, and it seemed to have a good effect. He came back again, with less of a chip on his shoulder and a more relaxed manner. He studied the artwork on display, photographs, paintings, and sculptures made by employees and customers, asking about one in particular which happened to be mine. That led to a long conversation about paint, composition, various movements, and expression in general—it turned out he wasn't bad with a paintbrush, either.

He stopped by a lot more often after that, trading a few words with the staff and always making it a point to at least say hello to me. I enjoyed talking to him as much as anyone and honestly thought he just liked the atmosphere.

Until he asked me out, that is.

"How long have ye been workin there?" Connor asked, wrenching me out of my oneirism.

"Uh...year and a half? Two years?" I answered.

"Do ye like it?"

"It's not bad. I thought it was pretty cool, with all the local artists."

He nodded. "Murph here is inta art as well. Paint, clay, photographs..."

I hummed in response, not sure if he knew that I already knew that, and not even sure what he knew about me from Murphy. Whatever it was, if he combined it with our interaction this morning, he'd probably conclude I was a basket case.

"D'ye have ta work today?"

I shook my head.

"It's prolly nice ta get a day off, after dealin with customers an' shit."

"Yeah, I guess...I mean, yes, it is."

On Connor's other side, Murphy had settled himself into his breakfast with the surly, like-it-or-not attitude I remembered from that first meeting. I was pretty sure Connor and I might as well have been nonexistent, for all the attention he gave us, and given the circumstances I was perfectly fine with that.

Connor, however, gave his brother a nudge and said, "Where the fuck's yer manners, Murph? Be polite, say somethin ta the lady."

"Polite?" Murphy replied around a mouthful of bacon. "I'm fuckin eatin, eejit."

"And I gotta run," I said, draining the last of my coffee. "Thanks for everything."

"Don't mention it," Connor said, looking a little surprised but standing with me as I got to my feet. "I s'pose we might see ye sometime."

"I suppose," I agreed halfheartedly. "Goodbye." I left a ten-dollar bill by my plate for the waitress, then walked outside.

My eyes hadn't had time to adjust before I heard someone calling my name behind me. I turned, expecting to see Connor and shocked to find Murphy instead.

He approached, looking more approachable than he did a few minutes ago, and handed me my money. "Connor an' I got ye covered," he said.

"You don't have to—"

"I wanted to," he insisted. "An' Connor doesn't go Dutch."

I took the money shyly, still not meeting his eyes. "Thanks."

"Hey."

Damn it. I finally looked up, and those blue eyes were fixed on me, intent but apprehensive. "Are ye...okay?"

"Yeah. Just...been busy."

"Is that why ye never returned my calls?"

I'd bet the ten bucks he gave me that I was blushing again. "Yeah, I—I meant to, but never really had the chance..."

He nodded, and he probably knew I was bullshitting him. "Oh. Okay. Guess I'll see ye later, then."

"Yeah. I guess."

He turned away and I hurried the rest of the way back home, hoping Corrie was still out.

No such luck on that one. I should have known she'd be waiting up, but still. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of Froot Loops when I walked in, and she pounced before I even managed to close the door. "Spill it, Junior," she said. "What went down last night, how did you end up bringing that fine ass Highlander home with you, and what the fuck happened this morning?"

"Highlander?" I repeated, dropping my purse on the ground and kicking off my shoes. "Those are Scottish, not Irish."

"Big fucking deal!" she exclaimed, widening big brown eyes in exasperation. "Tell me!"

I heaved a sigh and flopped down on the couch next to her. "Lisa, Megan and Katie wanted to go out for drinks," I said, "I'm a lightweight and got shit-faced a lot faster than they did, that guy Connor brought me home to make sure I actually got here and scared the shit out of me when I woke up this morning and found him here—thanks a fucking lot for that, by the way—"

"I left you a note," she said, waving it off. "Keep talking."

"He offered to take me to get breakfast, I went, then came back."

"That's _it?_ " she demanded, sounding cheated.

"Well, yeah, Cor. What did you want me to tell you?"

"That you got his digits, for one thing!"

"I didn't have to." She looked confused, and I knew she was going to love this plot twist. "You know Murphy, the guy who came into the coffee shop? They're brothers."

Her jaw dropped. "You're shitting me!"

"Nope. Dead serious."

"Stop lying!"

"God's honest truth."

She let out a little shriek and nearly spilled her cereal leaning over to sock me in the shoulder. "You have all the fucking luck, girl! I would kill to get the guys you do!"

"What guys do I get?" I questioned.

She rolled her eyes. "You get guys, chica. You just don't know what to do with them."

"You remember what happened with Murphy, right?"

"Yeah, I do. And I rest my case."

Well, she had a point. I really _didn't_ know what to do with Murphy. When he asked me if I wanted to catch a movie or something, I said yes before the question ever sank in and couldn't think of an excuse to back out. I spent the time from that yes up to the night of as jittery as a squirrel in traffic, though when it came down to it, it wasn't that bad. We had just enough to talk about—art and music, mostly, so in hindsight Connor had a point—that conversation wasn't a struggle, and we also had a similar interest in horror flicks that made things a lot easier in the ticket line. Two passes for _Mimic_ , popcorn and drinks at the concession counter, and things seemed to be going well...up until the middle of the movie, when he casually draped an arm around my shoulders.

Corrie gave me a look that was equal parts pity and long-suffering. We had been friends since senior year and she knew most of my quirks, such as my picky approach to touch and intimacy. I wasn't averse to it, per se, I just preferred not to. She was probably the only person on earth to understand it in those terms, though that didn't mean she didn't find it problematic at times. "Like I said, you don't know what to do with guys. If it bothered you, why didn't you just talk to him?"

"And tell him what?" I asked. "It was weird enough telling you, and I _know_ you. Other people look at me like I'm a freak of nature."

"And not answering the guy's calls is a good alternative. I love your logic."

I pulled my feet up onto the couch and wrapped my arms around my knees. I loved Corrie, but she just didn't get it.

At some point of adolescence, usually puberty, most girls go boy-crazy. I can't say for sure, because that part skipped me. As a result, I didn't date in school, never wanted to fool around with anyone, and honestly didn't give a shit that no one asked me to prom. My classmates would all swoon over some guy or another, yet all I could do was nod along like I cared about any of it. And you don't survive high school like that without taking a lot of shit for it. Prude, stuck-up and ice queen were the most popular epithets, though after rumors started that I was a lesbian I heard "dyke" a time or two as well. It only bothered me in that I knew I wasn't into girls...but I didn't seem to be into guys, either. And apparently, it was weird that I wasn't. There had to be something fundamentally wrong with me, some defect somewhere, something broken. It wasn't until I fell in love with my childhood friend that I stopped thinking those things, though telling him how I felt destroyed our friendship, and I went back to being broken.

I was glad I had Corrie at that point, as she helped me put myself back together and didn't pass judgement on me when I told her the way I was. And yet despite all that, she still didn't understand why it was so hard for me to explain to an otherwise decent guy I felt I could have been friends with why I acted the way I did. Not that she didn't try to salvage the situation, after learning Murphy was otherwise a perfect gentleman and she didn't need to kick his ass on my behalf. Did I freak out on him, she wanted to know? Move away? Tell him off? No, was the answer. I just sat there like a stump, indifferent on the outside but in truth a train wreck. For all the clues I gave him, I was perfectly cool with his arm around me. Which is why, I conceded, it was a bitch move to never call him back. Now, thanks to a fluke, he was back on the scene and I was pretty sure Corrie wouldn't let me rest until I squared things away with him.

Sure enough...

"You need to talk to him, Phil. At least to clear the air. He's probably gotten the message that you're not interested, but it's a courtesy thing, y'know?"

"You insist that I _don't_ , so..."

"Whatever. Just call him, dammit."

I mumbled something about doing it later and she rolled her eyes but didn't challenge me as she finished her cereal and took the bowl to the kitchen. She stopped in the hallway, turned back and asked, "What's the plunger doing out here?"

"Don't worry about it."

She left me alone for the rest of the day while she slept, and I kept myself busy doing laundry, playing with Jerry, and sketching a new painting. Soon after she woke up, though, she presented me the handset with a meaningful look and I heaved a sigh as I dug the napkin with the phone number out of the kitchen junk drawer. Maybe I'd get lucky and no one would pick up... I held that hope loosely as I dialed, then tighter and tighter with every ring...

"Hello?"

Shit.

I scrambled my brain for a response, so intent on my hope for no answer that for a moment I had no words.

"Hello?" This time I recognized the voice as Connor's, a split second before I found my own.

"Is Murphy there?"

"Aye, sure. Let me get him." There was a brief pause, then a shout that seemed directed away from the receiver but nonetheless carried through it. "Murph! Phone!"

The response was from a distance. "Who is it?"

"I don't fuckin know! Just answer the fuckin thing, eejit!"

I looked over at Corrie. _Well?_ she mouthed at me. I shrugged and waited another moment before Murphy's voice came over the line. "Hello?"

"Murphy," I said. "It's Phil."

There was silence, then, "Oh. Okay."

Okay? I shot a bewildered glance at Corrie, foundering where I stood and at a loss for what to say. She gestured for me to keep talking, but if there's one thing I hate more than small talk, it's talking on the phone, and my brain had all but shut itself down.

More silence as he waited for me to say something, then he prompted, "What's on yer mind?"

"Oh—uh...just wanted to say..." fuck, Phil, think of _something_... "there's wall space opening up at work and we're looking for anyone with something they want to display."

_What?_

Corrie burst out laughing and I waved her away, vowing to kick my own ass once I hung up the phone. I almost missed Murphy on the other end sounding a little confused, "Uh...aye, sure. I might—I might have something... I'll think about it, aye?"

"Oh, sure," I replied. "I don't need an answer right away. Just come by and let me know either way."

"Aye, then. I'll do that."

"Good... Bye, then."

"Bye, Phil."

I hung up and glared at Corrie, who looked entirely too pleased with herself. "You did that shit on purpose," I accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied innocently, though her grin was anything but.

"You fucking _knew_ I'd panic and say something stupid!"

"Well, I mean, asking the guy to come visit isn't the same as apologizing for blowing him off, but if you call that stupid..." I kept staring at her and she gave me a nudge. "Cheer up, Junior. You just have to live through one more conversation."

Gee whiz. I could hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" by Stars


	3. This Kind Of Trouble's Only Just Begun

_How many times do I have to try to tell you_

_That I'm sorry for the things I've done?_

_And when I start to try to tell you, that's when you have to tell me_

_Hey, this kind of trouble's only just begun_

I didn't really expect to see Murphy the next day, but I woke up in a state of limbo that was somewhere between anticipation and outright suspense. I still didn't know what I was going to say to him and I dreaded saying anything at all, but I wanted to hurry up and get it over with as soon as possible. Rip off the band-aid, as it were.

Unfortunately, it was going to be even more awkward thanks to my dear roomie and my own big mouth. I either had to come up with wall space to back up my bullshit excuse or admit to Murphy that I'd lied to him and lured him under false pretenses. Given that I was already concerned that I'd led him on and left him hanging, the idea was mortifying.

I was fretful and distracted walking into work, something my coworkers were quick to pick up on.

"Someone's a little out of it today," Megan remarked as I nearly refilled the espresso hopper with decaf and only just caught my mistake. "The other night got you good, didn't it?"

"Not that bad," I told her. "I was back to normal last night."

"You freaked us all out, though," Lisa chimed in, setting pastries out in the display case. "One minute you were with us, the next some guy was leading you out and that was the last we saw of you."

"I told them you weren't being kidnapped," Katie assured me. "Some guys sitting near you at the bar were hitting on you pretty hard and you weren't dealing with it too well, so another guy volunteered to see you home. He seemed okay."

I nodded. Katie could be very blunt and occasionally took honesty to the point of rudeness, but she was a good judge of people. If she had thought something was off about Connor, she wouldn't have let me leave the bar with him.

"Wait, the blonde guy with the baby blues and the sex hair?" Lisa asked. "Damn, girl, I'd let him take me home any night."

"Aren't you married?" Megan reminded her.

"I can dream," she replied. "How did it go?"

"I was too drunk to get home by myself," I answered. "How do you think it went?"

"Oh yeah...I guess that makes sense..."

Katie rolled her eyes.

There wasn't much time for talking after that; we were open for business and the neighborhood knew it. Mornings consisted mainly of regulars needing their caffeine fix before starting the day, a practice I always sympathized with and approved of. It was great the people during the morning rush knew what they wanted and exactly how they wanted it, because nothing slowed the whole operation like newbies who just weren't sure—

"So, what's good here?"

I froze in place, my back to the register. I didn't need Lisa nudging me with her elbow to recognize the voice and I delayed turning towards it as long as possible, already certain I was going to embarrass myself. When it would have been more awkward to avoid it, I finally moved to the counter to see Connor standing on the other side and next to him, looking as standoffish as I'd ever seen him, was Murphy.

"Mornin, Phil," Connor greeted pleasantly.

"Morning," I replied, hoping my customer service was up to this. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad. An' yerself?"

"Oh, just...working."

He smiled like it wasn't as lame a response as it sounded to me. "Say no more, lass. I've had plenty a those mornings." He leaned forward slightly, reading the blackboard behind me where our menu was scribbled in fading chalk. "Ta be honest, sweetheart, I'm not really sure what the fuck I'm lookin at."

"Yeah, about that..." I said, turning to look at the board. A coworker had gone to town with the chalk, filling in the space around the menu itself with whorls and patterns until the words were all but lost. It looked cool, but it made it hard on new customers. "Coffee?" I suggested. "Latte? Cappuccino?"

Farther down the bar, Katie set a mug on the pickup counter and called, "Four shot Americano, five Sweet 'n Low, steamed cream, whip, and chocolate powder!"

I looked at Connor and kept a straight face. "That?"

He paused, pretending to consider it. "I think I'll pass...what about a regular cup a coffee?"

"Of course." I keyed it into the register, then turned to Murphy. "Latte with two sugars?" I asked hesitantly.

He looked surprised I remembered. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

I nodded, they paid, and I stepped away to work on the drinks. And right on cue, Lisa and Megan converged on me in record time.

"What the fuck?" Lisa exclaimed in a stage whisper. "Murphy _and_ the guy from the bar?"

"My God, if I could get in the middle of that," Megan remarked wistfully.

"How do they know each other?" Lisa demanded.

"Brothers," I answered.

"Girl. For real. You need to get on that. There's no wrong choice between the two of them."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Phil doesn't date," Katie chimed in.

"Then skip that part and just bang one of them."

"She doesn't do that, either."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Do you like girls?" Megan asked in a voice of sympathetic understanding.

How in the name of God did this go so wrong? "Can I just make their coffee, please?" They stood aside and I got to it, feeling like a thirteen out of ten on the embarrassment scale. I would have let Katie hand off the drinks—she could bark shit out like a carnival hawker—but she purposefully stood back and left me to do it. I set two oversized mugs on the counter and called out, "One black coffee and a two sugar latte."

They were at a table nearby but they stood as one and moved in step to the counter. "Thanks, love," Connor said, claiming the coffee, and Murphy glanced up at me then looked away again when we made eye contact. "Thanks, Phil."

"Don't mention it," I muttered, and we turned away from each other, he to Connor and I to the other girls, all three of whom were watching me closely. "What?" I asked.

"That's it?" Lisa said. "'Don't mention it?'"

"Well, yeah. What else?"

She and Megan both looked deeply disappointed in my judgment. "He asked you out," Megan reminded me.

"I know. I was there too, remember? What about it?"

"He's back," Lisa added.

"So? He seems to like the place."

"Oh, come on. He's here for you, and you know it."

"I'm telling you guys, you're wasting your time," Katie informed them. "Phil is married to the single life."

"Yeah, but look at him," Megan sighed, glancing across the café. "Look! He's fucking delicious! And he likes you! There could be something here!"

"You're way more invested in this than I am," I told her.

"We're living vicariously through you," Lisa insisted. "Please talk to him, for our sakes."

"Unless you don't like him," Megan added as an afterthought. "Is that it?"

"No," I admitted, "I do like him..."

"Perfect!"

"But not _like_ like him..."

"Close enough. You can still march on over and befriend his ass."

I sighed. They were as bad as Corrie. Looking to Katie, I asked, "What do you think?"

"Well, he _does_ like you," she replied, "but you do you, girlfriend. If he turns out to be a creep, we can throw his ass out."

I looked at the other two. "See? She's got my back."

"Self-serving bitches," she remarked lightly.

Megan made a loser sign at her and Lisa flipped her off.

"For real, though," Katie told me, "if you want to talk to him, you can't do much better than here. Nobody's gonna fuck with you on our watch."

Katie reminded me of Corrie in that she seemed to have tasked herself with protecting me, awkward bird that I was, and I loved her for it. I gave her a smile of thanks and decided to suck it up and talk to him before he left.

I got the perfect opportunity a short time later when I walked out into the café to wipe down tables. I started at the opposite end of the room, sneaking glances at the brothers and planning what I was going to say as I got closer until I was at the table next door. Keeping my voice as casual as possible, I asked, "Everything okay over here?"

"Aye," Connor answered, "thanks very much."

"How's the coffee?"

"Better'n the diner near us."

"Aye," Murphy agreed. Yep, he was definitely more aloof than I'd ever seen him, his body turned away from me as he leaned his elbows on the table, staring down at what was left of his latte.

Connor, on the other hand, was much more relaxed, leaning back in his chair with one hand resting on the table near his coffee. He looked around the café, from the people milling around to the art on the walls, and said, "Interesting place ye have here. I'm not surprised Murph found it."

"I'm not sure it was intentional," I confessed.

"It wasn't," he confirmed before going quiet again.

"Looks like his kind a place, though," Connor went on.

"But not yours?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine anywhere, lass, as long as it holds my attention."

I nodded, beginning to relax. I had a feeling it would be hard to dislike Connor. "So, are you guys heading to work, or..."

"Actually, Murph wanted ta speak to ye, though it might seem the opposite right about now."

I heard a soft thud and Murphy flinched—my guess was that Connor had kicked him under the table. "Aye, right," he said, shooting daggers at Connor. "Just wanted ta see what kind a wall space ye were talkin about."

Shit!

"Yeah, sure," I said quickly, trying to mask my panic. "It's...just...right over here..." I swiveled my head left and right around the café, then pointed. "Right there."

Murphy turned to follow my finger, then looked back at me, confused. "That one's yers," he said.

"Yeah," I replied. "I thought people were getting tired of looking at it."

"Ah, she's an artist, then?" Connor asked Murphy. "Lemme take a look." He stood and Murphy followed, and we made our way to my painting on the wall.

I paint things I remember from my dreams, and this one leaned toward the nightmarish. A burning tree, red and orange strokes that could have been flames or leaves stark against the black branches and set with a background of indigo and great, contrasted with a pale yellow doe and fawn sheltering beneath it. I remembered the abandon with which I'd executed the tree, smearing pigment and slashing the brush across the canvas until I was spattered with paint from head to toe, and the care I'd put into the deer, using the utmost precision to bring them to life. It struck me again while looking at it, the chaos and frenzy that overtook me to render just that, along with the gentleness and delicacy.

"Ye really painted this?" Connor asked.

I nodded. "I did."

He leaned closer, his eyes roving over the canvas. "It's pretty fuckin intense..."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, and did I hear a note of approval in his voice? "It's a shame ye're takin it down."

I felt bashful, but also a little pleased. "I can always put it back up. Time to give someone else a chance."

"Fair enough." I saw his eyes scan the height and width of the canvas as if noting the dimensions. "I think I have somethin that'll work..."

"None a yer fuckin weird shit, though," Connor told him. "No road kill photos, or topless girls in animal masks." I raised my eyebrows in surprise and he nodded solemnly at my expression. "It's true, sweetheart. Ye don't know what ye've gotten yerself into. He's a strange fucker, he is."

"Dude, shut yer gob, would ye?" Murphy asked. "I've got more'n just that shit."

"Well, whatever you decide on, feel free to bring it in," I said, "and my boss will say yea or nay."

"Aye, then. Thanks, Phil."

"Don't mention it."

"See ye later, lass," Connor said, winking at me.

"Sure. Have a good one."

They both took their leave and it wasn't until after they walked out the door I realized I hadn't said anything to Murphy I'd intended to.

* * *

Murphy was much less of a stranger after that, and Connor's became a familiar face as well. The coffee shop was hard put to see one without the other anymore, which made it more bewildering why Murphy used to come in on his own in the first place. The pair of them quickly became favorites of the staff, and even other regulars grew to recognize them.

I enjoyed their visits but I still hadn't gotten square with Murphy yet, and that seemed less and less likely every time he came in. It was comfortable as it was, exchanging friendly words and sharing a few laughs here and there, so why bring up anything awkward? Unfortunately, Corrie was on my ass about making amends, and I couldn't shake her off.

"Think about it this way, Junior," she said one night before she left for work, "do you really want to be friends with the guy?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted shyly. "I do."

"How can you expect to do that when you've got a bad date hanging over you? Fine, then, not a _bad_ one," she corrected herself, seeing the look on my face, "but at least a weird one. Bite the bullet, chica. Apologize for leaving him hanging, let him know how you feel, and hope for the best."

In the end, she decided her presence was necessary to get things moving and until I made good on my promise she would show up at the coffee shop before heading to the station. Whether her tactic was guilt or intimidation...it was working.

She was leaning on the counter waiting for her cappuccino on day three when the boys walked in. I had barely caught a glimpse of their silhouettes in the doorway when she reached out and socked me in the arm. I looked over at her and she had her eyebrows raised in a meaningful look, and I rolled my eyes and nodded.

"Afternoon, ladies," Connor greeted Lisa and Megan as they waved at him and Murphy on their way to the register. He paused in front of the trainee at the counter and said, "Don't think I've seen ye before, man. How're ye doin?"

"Go easy on him, he's new," Megan told him. "Eddie, this is Connor. He looks harmless, but he's trouble."

"There ye go, scarin him an' tellin him lies like that! What kind a place are ye runnin here?"

" _Talk to him_ ," Corrie muttered forcefully as I handed her the coffee.

I made some inarticulate noise in response and she stepped away to be replaced by Connor moments later, winsome smile unwavering. "Hi, Phil. It's good ta see ye."

"Back atcha," I replied, grinning. "Aside from hassling the new guy, what are you up to?"

"Had the day off an' errands ta run, an' Murph wanted ta talk to ye about hangin somethin on the wall."

There was a loud, exaggerated cough from somewhere behind him and we both looked to see Corrie seated at the nearest table, trying and failing—to me, at least—not to look like she was eavesdropping. I glared at her but Connor rolled with it. "Oh, hello. Ye're...Corrie, right?"

She looked genuinely surprised, not to mention pleased, that he remembered her name. "That's right, I am," she replied. "Thanks again for looking out for my girl that night."

"Ah, sweetheart, that's nothin ye wouldna done yerself, surely."

"Do you want to sit?"

He took her up on her offer and she looked smug; not only did she get Connor all to herself, but she'd successfully removed any distractions between me and Murphy. He took his brother's place on the other side of the bar and smiled. "Hi, Phil. How are ye?"

"Not too bad. You?"

"Ye took the words outta my mouth."

I smiled, though I could feel my nerves rising. _Just get through this conversation, chica,_ Corrie would say. _Bite the bullet._

"About that wall space," he said, "I just wanted ta know what would be appropriate?"

"Why? Do you paint a lot of weird shit?" I asked teasingly, thinking of Connor's commentary on his brother's artistic endeavors.

He seemed only mildly embarrassed, looking down and smiling a little. "I just wanna run it by yer boss. Don't wanna bring somethin in ta have ta take it down again."

"Yeah, sure. Brian is in pretty early the rest of the week..."

Over his shoulder, I could see Corrie shooting glances at me, and my pulse kicked into overdrive and my hands started shaking, but I swallowed hard and said, "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Oh, aye?"

"Yeah, um..." _Deep breath, Junior, you've got this..._ "I still feel bad about not calling you back."

His entire demeanor changed, looking away again and angling his body slightly away from the bar—and me. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly. "No big deal."

"Actually, it kinda is—"

"It's okay, Phil. I just assumed ye didn't have much fun."

"No, I did. That's not it. It's just that—" I broke off, feeling frustrated. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?" he asked, confused.

"Explaining things."

He still looked lost but nodded along slowly. "Take yer time, then, an' I'll try ta follow yer lead."

"Okay. Thanks..." I ran through all the thoughts in my head, trying to find something that wouldn't confuse him even more. "I, um, I don't usually—that is, I've always been—" I gave an irritable sigh.

"It's all right," he assured me, shifting where he stood again and giving me more of his attention. "Take yer time."

I nodded and eventually said, "You might have noticed I'm not super outgoing."

"Aye. I did."

"I've been called antisocial a lot, but that's not really it. I just take a really long time to get to know people, and even longer to feel really comfortable around them, like I can be myself."

He was still waiting for the point but didn't try to rush me, nodding to show he understood.

"That makes things like dating more complicated," I went on. "There's just so much pressure to do stuff, you know?"

"Stuff?"

"Yeah, like..." _Ugh. He's gonna think I'm a prude or a freak or something..._ I glanced at Corrie again in desperation; she made eye contact and gave me a tiny wink.

Deciding if he _did_ think that then I was better off rid of him, I went for it. "I've never really seen the hype about dating, relationships, and the touchy-feely Marvin Gaye shit. I think I put more stock in friendships, bit I also think I might be in the minority on that, so at the movie when you had your arm around me—"

His eyes widened in shock. "Oh fuck," he said. "Jesus fuckin Christ, Phil, I'm sorry, I wasn't tryin ta make a move on ye—"

"I didn't think you were," I assured him, "but I just wasn't sure what—I mean, to hear my roommate talk, about half of her dates end with a hookup, not that I'm judging her or anybody who does that, it's just that—"

"Ye don't seem like that's yer style," he offered, trying to be helpful.

"It's an awkward story no one has time for right now," I concluded.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncertain. "I'm really sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean ta put ye on the spot, if I'd known ye were uncomfortable—"

"That was my fault," I said. "I suck at communication. It was a weird situation I could have handled better, but talking about it sounded weirder, because I really did have fun and I think you're an interesting person, but I didn't know if...well..."

"Ye didn't know if I wanted ta fuck at some point. Guys are assholes sometimes."

"And like I said, I take a long time to get to know people. I didn't really know you that well for _that_ conversation."

"Tough one ta have with a near stranger."

"Exactly."

"Phil!" Megan barked from the register with her trainee. "You're sleeping on the job, babydoll!"

Murphy and I looked around at the line of people behind him waiting for their coffee. "Fuckin hell," he said, "ye're gonna be bustin ass ta catch up..."

"I'll be fine."

He hesitated, then asked, "If I call ye later, will ye answer this time?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Good. An' just so ye know, I appreciate ye talkin to me."

I shrugged awkwardly. "I felt bad for leaving things like that." I handed him his coffee and he didn't look away this time when our eyes met. "Have a good day."

"Aye, you too, Phil. I'll call ye."

"I'll answer."

He smiled a bit and walked away, and Corrie raised her eyebrows at me, still in conversation with Connor. I shrugged at her. Hopefully the hard part was over, but on the other hand...I'd just signed up for a phone conversation.

Hopefully, I wouldn't make a fool of myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Why" by Annie Lennox


	4. Her Confidence Is Tragic But Her Intuition Magic

_She only drinks coffee at midnight when the moment is not right_

_And her timing is quite unusual_

_You see, her confidence is tragic but her intuition magic_

_And the shape of her body unusual_

"Relax, Junior, he might not even call you tonight."

"He's going to call tonight, and you're going to leave me to struggle alone."

It was later that afternoon. I was home from work and Corrie was about to leave for it, and I knew in my gut that Murphy wasn't going to drag his feet about that phone call. And the more I thought about it, the more frantic and clingy I got.

"You know what I'm like on the phone," I persisted. "I'm even worse than when I'm talking in person!"

"You act like you've never talked to him before," she replied, throwing a bottle of Gatorade, two oranges, and a bologna sandwich in a plastic grocery bag for her lunch. "If nothing else, at least he already knows how bad you are at conversations."

"Wow, thanks, now I feel so much better."

"What do you want me to do, chica? Talk to him for you?"

I didn't answer, too grouchy to respond. I was just whining, and we both knew it.

"Play with Jerry in the meantime," she suggested. "Paint something. Watch TV. Borrow my vibrator, if you think it'll help, just fucking _relax_ , okay?"

I nodded.

_"Okay?"_

"Yeah, sure. Relax. Got it."

"Good. You'll be fine. If he calls, stay calm. If he doesn't, stay calm. It's nothing to lose your head over. All right?"

"All right."

"And if you _do_ use my vibrator, be sure to clean it before you put it back."

"Corina!"

"I'm just saying..." She put on her shoes and jacket and grabbed her lunch. "Later, Junior."

"Later."

"And remember— _relax, don't do it, when you want to go to it_ —"

I held the door open and ushered her out in exasperation and she walked out still singing. I locked the door behind her and turned to the handset, silent and waiting on the coffee table. He wasn't going to drag his feet...

I tapped my foot for a moment, then cleared everything off the table and went to get supplies from my room. I typically worked with oil on canvas, but opted for watercolors when I didn't feel like setting up my easel. As it was, I only needed a drop cloth and a few containers of water, and I was in business.

I fell into the rhythm of creation, my awareness centered on the brush in my hand. Jerry appeared and wound himself around my ankles before leaping onto the couch next to me and I reached out to stroke his ears; if he thought I was ignoring him when I was painting, he'd jump onto the table and try to chew on the brush.

The apartment was quiet apart from the occasional splash of rinsing paint and Jerry's purring. I was in my element, feeling my shields come down as I dropped into the vision in my mind and strove to recreate it. A touch here, a splash there, moving purely by intuition and perfectly at ease.

Maybe Corrie was onto something.

The phone eventually rang and I felt nervous again, though the calm was still with me and my nerves weren't nearly as bad as they had been. Taking a deep breath, I stilled the brush, reached for the handset, and answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Phil. It's Murphy."

I took another breath and adjusted my grip on the phone. "Hi. How's it going?"

"It's all right."

I heard Connor call something from somewhere on the other end of the line and Murphy heaved a sigh. "Aye, _ceart go leor. Ciúin, le do thoil,_ " he replied, then added, "Connor says hi."

"Oh. Is he nearby?"

"In the shower."

"Oh." Was he having as hard a time as I was thinking of something to say? "I was really nervous waiting for you to call."

"Ye were?"

"Yeah. I hardly ever talk on the phone."

"Ah. Shit. I keep pushin yer fuckin buttons, don't I?"

"No, it's fine. I'm just awkward, but you already know that."

"Aye. Me too, ta be honest..."

That made sense, now that I thought about it. Not to mention, it gave me an idea. "Tell you what, since we're both awkward, let's just not worry about how awkward we are and say the first thing that pops into our heads."

There was a slight pause, then he said, "I sure hope Connor doesn't use all the fuckin hot water."

"Does he often?" I asked, going with the flow.

"Aye. 'Course he does, selfish bastard. Ye better leave enough for me!" he added, calling away from the receiver.

"Anxious for your turn, or anxious to get off the phone?" I asked, only partly joking.

"Nah, I'm good. You?"

"Not so bad."

He paused again, then said, "Ye really don't have ta take down yer painting, ye know."

I shrugged, then remembered he couldn't see me. "We need something new up, to keep the place interesting—"

"Sorry, Phil, but ye're a bad liar."

"What?"

"I didn't wanna say at the time, but it sounded like a bad excuse when ye called me about it. I wasn't sure ye were makin shit up until I asked ye."

"Ah. Um..." Good thing he couldn't see me, after all. My face felt so hot I was surprised my head hadn't caught fire. "Jeez, Murphy, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have lied, but I felt so weird calling, and—"

"Ye're awkward, an' terrible on the phone."

"You're going to get tired of hearing that."

"Aye, well, I figure if we're gonna be friends, we'd better get used ta each other."

I felt slightly happier in the middle of my embarrassment. "We're going to be friends?"

"Why the fuck not? Already tried the date thing, an' that didn't work out so well."

I guess he had a point. I was just glad he wasn't going to write me off because of it, and if I was super honest, I was half expecting him to. I loved being wrong when it turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

"Yer turn," he prompted. "First thing that pops inta yer head."

"Okay...I know a good knock knock joke..."

"Ye do?"

"Yeah." I felt childish, but went with my gut and kept talking. "Want to hear it?"

"Sure."

"Okay. You start."

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

It was quiet for a moment or two, then I heard a loud exhale and, to my relief, a chuckle. "All right, ye got me. I fell for that one."

"I forgot to mention I'm also a huge dork."

"Thanks for the warning. I tend ta have my moments as well."

I scooped Jerry into my lap as I leaned back into the couch, settling to the conversation. This was way easier than I thought.

"So, what're ye up to?"

"Painting. You?"

"Soon as Connor's done primpin, we're headin ta the bar for a bit. What're ye paintin?"

I considered the scene in front of me, in which an octopus swam through a goldfish bowl, the end of one tentacle gripping the brim of a top hat and raising it in a jaunty salute. "A seascape."

"Canvas?"

"Paper."

"Ah. Watercolor?"

"You got it."

"Cool. I wanna see more a yer stuff."

"I want to see yours."

"I dunno...Connor was tellin ye the truth. It's kinda weird."

"If we're going to be friends, we'd better get used to each other."

He hummed briefly in response. "Guess that's fair. I'll bring somethin by one a these days."

"Awesome."

I heard Connor's voice in the background, the words indistinct, and Murphy said, "All right, I gotta go, but it was great talkin to ye."

"Same to you. I'll see you around sometime?"

"Aye. Of course. Take care."

"You too."

We hung up and I set the phone aside, relieved and proud I hadn't embarrassed myself. He didn't seem eager to drop me now that we had established the framework of any future relations, and I really hoped there _would be_ relations. He seemed like an okay guy to me.

"What do you think, buddy?" I asked Jerry, scratching his favorite spot under the tip of his chin. "Do we want to make friends with him?"

He purred and tilted his head to get the right angle, not paying the slightest bit of attention, but it didn't matter. I had a gut feeling my mind was already made up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Meet Virginia" by Train


	5. Just A Casual, Casual Easy Thing

_I'm getting wise_

_And I feel so Bohemian like you_

_It's you that I want, so please_

_Just a casual, casual easy thing_

_Is it? It is for me_

Having decided that Murphy and I might as well be friends, he lost no time in making space for each of us in the other's life. Our phone talks were a little more frequent and slowly grew less awkward, which made our face-to-face encounters easier in turn. By default, Connor also came into the picture, and as I grew to know one brother, I grew more familiar with the other as well.

Murphy was sensitive and emotional, occasionally hiding it behind a surly attitude. When he wasn't, he was goofy and weird and very much an overgrown child. I was still unsure who was the older of the two of them, but I wasn't about to bet on Murphy, seeing the way he tended towards adolescence when interacting with others sometimes. On the flipside, he was intelligent and expressive, and while he seemed a bit insecure at times, no one could say he was afraid to be himself.

Connor was charming. Dangerously so. He could take control of a room five minutes after walking into it with his easy manner, magnetic smile, and surprising gift with words. He had a way of making people feel they'd known each other forever and reinforced it with a broad and often irreverent sense of humor, traits that made him ridiculously easy to hang out with. And there was an unwavering self-confidence to him that left no doubt, here was a man who knew exactly what he stood for.

In some respects they were like night and day, yet they complemented each other so well they really were like two halves of one whole.

A couple weeks after our first phone chat, Murphy had promised to lend me some charcoals for a new project I wanted to start. I kept my eyes peeled for him at work, ready to spirit the supplies away at a moment's notice. It was nearing the end of my shift with no sign of him and I had all but resigned myself to another day of waiting when in walked, not Murphy, but Connor.

"Hey, Phil," he greeted brightly. "I was hopin ye were still here."

"Hi," I replied, smiling as he walked over. "Where's Murph?"

"Poor bastard's laid up with a fuckin cold. Had ta bunk off work an' all. An' since I'm not tryin ta catch the shite an' don't want him infectin ye, I said I'd bring ye the supplies he promised." He handed me the paper sack he'd been carrying, left over from some grocery shopping expedition and laden with a lot more than charcoals, by the look of it.

I took the sack and peeked inside. "Holy shit, he hooked me up!" I crowed, taking in the pencils, erasers, blending stumps and paper.

"Aye," Connor replied. "He wanted ye set for success. Even sent ye this, whatever the fuck it is." He drew a can of spray fixative from among the supplies. "I'm told ta make sure ye let him see it when ye're done."

"Of course."

"Hi, Connor!" Megan called from across the cafe. "Phil, it's quitting time!"

"Sure thing," I answered, folding the sack closed. "Thanks for bringing this over," I added to Connor.

"Anytime, love."

Megan walked over, purse and jacket in hand. "You clocking out or trying for overtime, babe?" she asked.

"On my way," I said.

"Leavin already?" Connor asked. "An' where are ye fine things headed?"

"Out to grab some food," Megan told him, putting on her jacket. "You wanna come with?"

"Well, I don't want ye ta break yer plans..."

"No plans. Just grub."

"You might as well," I chimed in, "since Murphy's stuck at home with the shite."

He nodded thoughtfully. "'Tis a good point, that."

"Awesome!" Megan said. "I know this Mexican place that does half-price margaritas, and their salsa is the fucking  _bomb_."

"That settles it, then." He caught my eye and smiled. "Shall I call us a cab?"

About twenty minutes later, we were walking through the doors of a cramped, crowded cantina with sombreros hanging on the walls,  _veladoras_  arranged by the cash register, and  _papel picado_  banners draped across the ceiling. A short, smiling woman with accented English led us to a table in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by other patrons. After passing out menus and getting our drink orders, she disappeared into the throng.

I edged closer to the table, trying to get some distance between me and the people seated behind me. "Is it always this busy?" I asked Megan over the clamor of voices around us and the mariachi music over the sound system.

"Pretty much," she replied.

"Must be the salsa," Connor remarked lightly, beginning to read the menu.

I glanced down at my own and paused, stunned. Every word of it was in Spanish. I looked up at Megan, who wasn't even bothering with it, and Connor, who was reading every line with careful consideration, and kept looking back and forth between them, at a total loss.

Our waitress arrived with drinks, chips and salsa and took her ticket pad from her apron pocket, an expectant look on her face. Megan leaned towards her with her menu, pointing at something on the page, and the waitress nodded as she jotted it down and turned to me.

"Uh..." I said, "whatever she's having?" She looked blank and I pointed at Megan, and she nodded in comprehension before turning to Connor.

He smiled and greeted her warmly then asked her a question or two about the menu before deciding-in perfect Spanish. She responded quite cheerfully and laughed at what we could only guess was a joke on his part before leaving the table.

Turning to us, still smiling, he put on an air of innocence. "What are ye ladies starin at?"

"Dude," Megan said, "what the fuck? You speak Spanish?"

"Aye. Enough ta get by on, at least."

"Enough to sweet talk the staff at the local cantina?" I corrected. "How many of those do you have back in Ireland?"

He smiled and shrugged, and I'd gotten to know him well enough to see how he was trying to brush it off and be modest but was still pleased at our reaction.

Megan struck up idle conversation, which I felt at ease excluding myself from, reaching for the chips and trying the salsa. Pretty good, enough heat to get your attention, but a little heavy on the cilantro. Corrie's was better.

The restaurant faded into a blur, Connor's and Megan's voices melding with everything else into white noise as my mind turned to the supplies in the bag sitting on the floor next to me. I couldn't wait to get home and get started, the rush of excitement that flares with inspiration making me antsy and eager. I had sketched the image from my dream once I woke up, to capture it before it slipped away, and I couldn't help but reimagine those rough lines with bold strokes and hazy edges, conjuring an atmosphere of uncertainty and unease. I had limited experience with charcoal, so this was bound to be an adventure of sorts-

"Phil! Look alive, toots!"

Megan's heads-up came just in time for me to lean away from the table and make room for a rather large plate set in front of me by a waiter wearing what seemed more of an oven gauntlet than mitt. "Very hot," he warned, and I didn't need telling twice, feeling the heat radiating off the ceramic. He set a similar plate in front of Megan and the waitress set Connor's on the table with a smile; the waiter nodded and said, "Enjoy," and they walked away.

"So, what am I eating?" I asked Megan, unrolling my silverware and draping the napkin over my lap.

 _"Pollo fundido,"_  she answered. "Chicken and onions smothered with cheesy, gooey deliciousness. Guaranteed food orgasm."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise and glanced at Connor, who offered, "Lemme know if ye need a smoke for afters. I'll be happy ta spot ye one."

She laughed, not the laugh I was accustomed to but the high, flirty laugh it seemed most women I knew reserved for guys they found attractive. And as the thought crossed my mind, I quickly assessed Connor one more time. Yep, definitely one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen, but still mostly a stranger. I didn't understand how such a scenario could throw anyone's hormones into a tailspin.

Regardless, there was no  _not_  enjoying Connor's company no matter what the scenario. Conversation ranged from the semi-serious to the humorous, and he was intelligent and witty enough to keep up with both-in fact, when it came to humor Megan and I were hard-pressed to keep up with  _him._

Megan took advantage of the half-priced margaritas and talked Connor into one as well, while I stuck to nursing a glass of sangria. Connor and Megan also limited themselves, and between them it was clear who had the greater capacity. Connor seemed unaffected; Megan seemed more and more giddy the closer she got to the bottom of the glass.

"I guess I'd better be responsible," she said airily, a slight bloom in her cheeks betraying the alcohol in her system.

"Agreed," I replied. I checked my watch and was a little surprised to see we had been at the restaurant nearly two hours.

"Time flies when ye're havin fun?" Connor asked, watching me.

"I guess so. I bet it's dark outside."

It was. The last of the sunlight had disappeared behind the surrounding buildings, replaced by artificial daylight from street lamps, store fronts, and headlights.

"I'm this way," Megan said, pointing in the general direction she needed to go. "Catch you two later."

Connor and I waved goodbye as she set out to hail a taxi. "We're in the same direction most a the trip," he told me. "Do ye wanna get a cab an' split the fare?"

"Sure," I answered, and a few minutes later he was holding open the door and climbing in after me.

"How you folks doing?" the driver asked after we gave him our destination and he pulled back into traffic.

"Doin well," Connor replied, "an' yerself?"

"I can't complain."

I leaned back in the seat and adjusted the bags in my lap, listening to the small talk and glad to be out of the crowd in the restaurant. My relief must have been apparent; Connor gave me a soft nudge with his elbow and said, "Nice ta get outta the noise, aye?"

I nodded. "And to have room to breathe."

"True enough. I s'pose it was gettin a bit claustrophobic."

"A bit. I'm a fan of personal space."

"Are ye, now?" he asked, and by the lilt in his tone I could imagine a glint of mischief in his eyes. "It's odd ye say so, considerin the last cab we shared, ye were all the fuck over me an' had no fuckin clue what space was."

"I was what?" My face felt hot and I scooted closer to the door on my side of the car, belatedly recreating space on instinct.

"Aye, I couldn't keep ye off me. Did ye never learn that no means no?"

 _"What?_  What did I do?" There was no way I threw myself at him, that wasn't how I operated...under normal circumstances, that is. Oh shit, what if that changed when I was drunk? Apparently I was chatty after a few, and he'd been the one to find out and tell me, so what if I behaved differently as well? How did I embarrass myself this time?

He chuckled at my flustered reaction but showed mercy. "Nothin too disgraceful. Ye fell asleep in the car an' every fuckin turn we made, ye were leanin sideways inta the door, inta me, ye cracked yer head pretty fuckin good against the window once an' I tried ta keep ye away from it after that."

"Oh." Thank God.

"Ye tried grabbin me cock as we left the bar, though."

"What?"

He laughed harder and I gave him a kick that was more like a nudge in the close quarters of the car. "You're an ass!"

"Couldn't help myself, love, ye're just so easy ta fuck with."

"Did your mother teach you to fuck with helpless young women?"

"Fuck no. 'Twas quite the opposite, in truth. Treat em with respect an' allow no one ta disrespect a lady in yer presence. Ma said it often enough, an' knocked it inta our thick skulls enough, it stuck."

"Ma? What about your dad?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't around. It was just Ma, Murph an' I."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"S'fine. Ma had plenty a family close by. There were always aunts an' uncles an' cousins an' such."

"That's not quite the same."

"Aye, t'isn't, but we didn't have much say in the matter."

"I understand. I didn't really get along with my dad growing up and sure, I would have liked a better relationship with him, but..." I shrugged. "What can you do, I guess."

"Aye. Sorry ye had problems with yer da."

"Sorry yours bailed."

"An' sorry I teased ye about grabbin onta my cock."

"It's totally fine."

"If ye wanna cop a feel, though, go right ahead."

"Goddamn it, Connor."

"Sorry again, I'm just fuckin with ye. An' Lord's fuckin name, lass."

"Sorry, God."

"Blasphemy."

"Seriously?"

He laughed.

The cab stopped outside my building and I reached for my purse. "What's the damage?" I asked the driver.

"Twelve forty-five."

I dug for the cash and next to me, Connor did the same. "Soon as we drop the lady off," he said, "d'ye mind stickin around a little bit an' lettin me out in my neck a the woods?"

The driver nodded. "A fare's a fare."

"Thank ye." He handed over his half, then the other half. "Y'know what, I got it, love. My idea an' all."

"C'mon, Connor..." I gave the driver the cash in my hand and said, "I guess that's a tip."

"Hey, thanks, honey!"

I smiled and turned to Connor. "See you later."

"D'ye mind if I walk ye up? See ye safely ta yer door?"

"More of Ma's respect women policy?"

"Can't live with meself if I let her down."

"I guess not."

"Be right back," he told the driver.

"Sure thing, man."

We got out of the car and he hurried to hold the door open before we walked up to apartment. "Thanks," I said, getting my keys out.

"Sure," he said, "but I gotta make sure ye get inside safely."

"Gotcha." I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and added, "You did your ma proud, my friend."

"Aye. I can rest easy now. G'night, Phil."

"Night, Connor."

Corrie was getting ready for work inside. "Who was out there?" she asked, sitting on the arm of the couch and putting her shoes on.

"Connor," I told her, setting my purse and the bag of art supplies on the coffee table.

"Why didn't you invite him in?"

"He's got a cab waiting on him."

"Murphy?"

"At home with a cold."

"Gross."

"Yep."

"So you guys were just hanging out?"

"Pretty much."

She shook her head slightly as she stood up. "I swear, chica," she said, "you're the only girl I know who can hang out with guys that hot and  _not_  think they're hot."

"I think they're hot-I mean, I  _definitely_  don't mind looking at them, doesn't mean I want to sleep with either of them."

"Again, you're the only girl I know-"

"Yeah, yeah. A boring prude, probably going to die an old maid living alone with a bunch of cats. Can I help it that I'm wired the way I am?"

"Nah, of course not." She gathered up her purse and grabbed her lunch off the kitchen counter. "I'm outta here, girlie. Good night."

"See ya."

It was an old conversation we used to have much more often before she more or less came to terms with my sex life-or lack thereof and general disinterest in attaining one. I was perfectly fine taking care of my own needs and in fact had borrowed her vibrator on occasion, so I saw no need to bring someone else in to the party, especially when I didn't feel inclined to do so in the first place. I could easily look at guys like Connor and Murphy, as good-looking as they were, and not want to jump their bones...it just seemed unnecessary. Corrie was the first person not to give me shit about it, but it didn't mean she always understood. And the more time I spent with Connor and Murphy, the less she seemed to understand.

For my part, I was content with the way things were going with the brothers. I'd never had many guy friends and enjoyed the novelty of it, and now that we had cleared up past awkwardness, it was just so easy to hang out with them. The way I saw it, I was getting the best part of the deal.

I poured myself a glass of water, set up a work station at the coffee table, and got started on my drawing, feeling anxious, excited, and determined as I remembered Murphy wanted to see the finished piece. If I was going to show this off to anyone, it had to look bad ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Bohemian Like You" by the Dandy Warhols


	6. Life Has A Funny Way Of Sneaking Up On You

_Well, l_ _ife_ _has a_ _funny_ _way_ _of_ _sneaking_ _up_ _on_ _you_

_When_ _you_ _think_ _everything_ _'s_ _okay_ _and_ _everything's_ _going_ _right_

_And_ _life_ _has a_ _funny_ _way_ _of_ _helping_ _you_ _out_ _when_

_You_ _think_ _everything's_ _gone_ _wrong_ _and_ _everything_ _blows_ _up_

_In_ _your_ _face_

Connor might have been trying to save me from Murphy's "shite" by delivering the art supplies, but I seriously doubt he intended to deliver whatever germs he might have picked up from Murphy along with them. Within forty-eight hours of dinner with Connor and beginning to work with Murphy's charcoals, I came down with a sore throat, a bad cough, congestion like the Hoover Dam, and a fever that topped out at 102.9.

Irony, right?

I called in sick from work and chugged a bottle of NyQuil before going back to bed and sleeping straight through the majority of the day. I woke up feeling worse than I did before I fell asleep and a glance at the clock told me Corrie hadn't left yet. A moment of listening told me she was in the kitchen, so I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled toward the noise.

My specialty is junk food and breakfast, but Corrie took cooking more seriously than many a five-star chef. Her lasagna, for instance, was an all-day affair that was to die for - a lactose intolerant co-worker of hers risked the hospital for a second helping. Her chicken soup was equally legendary, and judging by the smell wafting through the apartment, she was working on a fresh batch.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she greeted me, washing a few stalks of celery before chopping them and throwing them into the pot. "How're you feeling?"

"Like shit," I answered, wincing when it came out as a croak.

"Still feverish?"

"How do you know I had one?"

"Digital thermometer, Junior. It's got a memory on it."

I rolled my eyes as I got a glass of water. "Thanks for checking on me, Mom."

"You're a shitty patient," she replied. " _Someone_ has to check on you." She ladled broth from the soup into a coffee mug and handed it to me. "It's not quite ready yet, but that'll feel better on your throat."

I took the mug with a hum of thanks, blew on the broth to cool it, and took a sip. By anybody's standards but Corrie's, it was a prizewinner, and it _did_ feel amazing on my sore, scratchy throat.

"I think I'll call out tonight and keep an eye on you," she went on.

"No," I replied. "I'll be fine. I'll just have some soup and watch-" My brain registered not just the time but the day of the week, and I groaned. "I missed _Buffy!"_

"No you didn't," she told me, "I taped it for you. It's in the VCR, just hit rewind and play. You're welcome."

I stared at her for a second, then set the mug on the counter and hugged her. "You're a beautiful human being, Corina. What would I do without you?"

"Die of malnutrition and mope because you slept through your show," she answered. "Let go before you give me your germs."

"Coward," I said - a split second before a coughing fit.

She shooed me away from her, shoving the mug of soup back into my hand. "Go sit down," she said. "Watch _Buffy._ And cover your cough. And disinfect everything you touch."

I grimaced at her and went to the couch, snatching the remote off the coffee table as I went. I channel-surfed for a minute for the hell of it, then hit the rewind button on the tape. The VCR started whirring and I sat contentedly with my soup before Corrie poked her head out of the kitchen and said, "That's not a new tape, so don't overdo it."

I pushed several more buttons and the tape started playing _All_ _My_ _Children._ "Aw, Cor, you put _Buffy_ with your soap!" I whined.

"Fast forward!" she burst out. "I haven't gotten to watch it yet!"

"Erica's plotting against someone," I taunted.

"Oh, please, like anyone's surprised."

 I chuckled to myself and it turned into another cough.

"Murphy called while you were asleep," she went on. "He and Connor stopped by the shop and heard you were sick, and he wanted to check on you."

"That was thoughtful," I replied, watching for the end of the soap.

"Don't be surprised if he calls later."

"Of course not."

I settled into my soup and my show while she got ready for work, leaving half the medicine cabinet on the coffee table for me between getting dressed and packing her own lunch, then she was flying out the door by the first commercials.

Though I still felt like hammered shit, I had no problem immersing myself in the TV. I went for more soup during a commercial but otherwise stayed put and with about twenty minutes left I was almost too involved to hear the phone ring. I paused the tape and cleared my throat before answering, "Hello?"

"Phil? It's Murph."

"Hey. Corrie said you called."

"Aye. Just checkin on ye."

"Well, I'm feeling pretty crappy, but I appreciate it."

"Is there anythin ye need? Medicine, or somethin like that?"

"No, I think I'm set," I answered, looking at the mess on the coffee table. "Corrie held up a pharmacy for me."

"Good. So, what're ye up to?"

"Catching up on a show." I took a drink of broth and cleared my throat again. "After that, I had plans to twiddle my thumbs until the decongestant kicks in."

"Ah. Well, listen, um..." He trailed off, either awkward or uncertain.

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"I was, uh, was just wonderin if ye'd be okay on yer own, or if ye needed someone ta look in on ye..."

By the tone of his voice I could imagine him on the other end of the phone, looking down at his feet, fidgeting slightly, probably shrugging as if it was of no importance yet biting his thumb nervously. "Well," I replied, "I'd hate for anyone to have to babysit me... don't want to be a nuisance, and I have my pride to think of."

"Then company? Someone ta watch ye twiddle yer thumbs?"

"I dunno. That sounds boring for everyone."

"Could make it a contest. First one ta get carpal tunnel loses."

"Ouch." I thought about it for a minute or two, then said, "If you don't have anything better to do, then I could use someone to keep me entertained."

"Really?" He sounded pleased, but still a bit uncertain. "Don't - don't feel like I'm pushin ye or anythin, if ye're not comfortable with it, feel free ta tell me ta fuck off-"

"Murph, it's fine. I promise."

"Well, um, Connor's comin as well..."

"I figured as much."

"Oh, aye?"

"Aye. See you in a bit?"

"Yeah, sure. See ye."

I hung up and hit play, but it was barely five minutes before there was a knock on the door. I paused again. What the hell? Surely not...

Sure enough. I looked through the peep hole and Murphy and Connor stood out in the hallway. I turned the deadbolt and unhooked the chain, letting them into the apartment. "What, did you call from the payphone on the corner?" I asked.

"Nice ta see ye as well," Connor replied, walking through the door after Murphy and closing it.

"How're ye feelin?" Murphy asked.

I shrugged. "Like I'm sick. You sure you want to risk contamination?"

He shrugged in return. "Pretty sure I had the same shite."

"What he's really sayin is that it's his fault," Connor chimed in.

"Oh, aye?" Murphy shot back. "An' how'd she get it from me, then, if not from _you?"_

" _Me?_ The fuck do I look like, an outbreak monkey?"

"Well, now ye mention it-"

Connor shoved him sideways and Murphy retaliated with a smack to the back of Connor's head. Connor darted forward and got Murphy in a headlock, wrestling him to the floor while Murphy grappled to get loose.

I was taken aback. Last time I checked, the two guys I'd gotten to know and like were grown ass men, with at least a modicum of maturity between them. So who the hell were these children fighting in my living room floor? "Uh, guys?"

They didn't hear me, still scuffling and cursing at each other.

" _Hello?"_

They paused, a tangle of arms and legs with two faces turning slowly toward me wearing similar expressions of apologetic sheepishness.

I folded my arms across my chest and stared at them.

"Sorry, lass," Connor said.

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "Me too."

"Make yourselves comfortable," I said, heading back to the couch. "I'd ask if you wanted to channel surf, but I'm in the middle of something."

"Aye, of course."

"Just pretend we're not even here."

Small chance of that. I hit play again and couldn't help but glance at the two of them every now and then, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, as if there was a chance they'd judge me by the shit I watched. They stayed quiet for a moment, Connor on the other end of the couch and Murphy on the small ottoman that served as extra seating. "What show's this?" Murphy asked.

" _Buffy_ _the_ _Vampire_ _Slayer,_ " I replied.

On screen, a vampire with bleached hair held a guy by the throat. "I'm more of a veal man," he said. "You're too old to eat."

"Well, he's an ugly fucker, isn't he?" Connor commented.

"He's a vampire," I explained.

He broke the guy's neck and Murphy quipped, "Now that's just fuckin rude."

They kept up a casual commentary through the rest of the show and it was amusing enough that I was more entertained than annoyed. As soon as the credits started rolling, I set the remote on the coffee table and said, "Feel free to pick something. I'm under orders to eat soup." I moved to stand with my empty mug, but Murphy got to his feet first, hand extended. "I'll get it."

"You can't wait on me in my own house," I protested. "I'm the hostess, it should be the other way around."

"Aye, but ye're sick an' could use waitin on."

I turned to Connor. "Did your mother teach you that, too?"

He nodded. "Aye, that she did. Annabelle MacManus's code a chivalry is extensive."

To emphasize the point, Murphy made a beckoning gesture for the mug.

I shrugged and handed it to him. "Help yourself to anything that's in there," I told him as he moved toward the kitchen. "Corrie always cooks with leftovers in mind."

He made some noise in response and I caught the scrape of a ladle against a pan, then the sound of the refrigerator door opening. "What d'ye drink here?"

"Water, coffee, Coke, and Gatorade," I replied. "There's probably some OJ in there from the last time Corrie made screwdrivers."

"Ye're not Pepsi fans, then?"

"Not in this house."

"Ye just broke the lad's spirit, love," Connor told me.

"Not my doing," I replied. "Corrie is a diehard."

Murphy returned to the living room with my mug of soup and two cans of Coke, handing the mug to me and the second soda to Connor. I took a cautious sip of the scalding hot broth; it had simmered long enough that Corrie would be proud. "By all means, grab a bowl and help yourselves," I said. "My roomie is a genius."

"Next trip," Murphy assured me, popping the top on his drink as he sat down.

A fluffy tail held aloft emerged from behind the couch and Jerry made his entrance, looking between me and the two strangers.

Murphy saw him first. "An' who's this chancer skulkin around an' hidin behind the furniture?"

"My other roomie," I answered, reaching down and giving him a soft scratch along his spine. "He heard the can and probably thinks it's dinner time. He's like Pavlov's dog."

Jerry reached up and batted at my hand with a paw, yowling loudly.

"Do ye feed him when he gets like this?" Murphy asked.

"Usually just a couple treats to make him happy," I answered. "Gimme a sec, I'll grab them-"

"Nope," Connor cut in. "My turn. Where d'ye keep em?"

"O...kay..." I said slowly, sitting back down as he stood up. "They're in the drawer next to the sink. Thanks."

"No worries." He went to the kitchen, emerged long enough to toss the bag of cat treats to Murphy, then disappeared again.

"D'ye mind if I..." Murphy began, lifting up the bag.

"No, go ahead. If he associates you with those, though, he might get clingy."

"Nah, I don't mind." He shook a treat into the palm of his hand and extended it toward the cat. "Hey, lad," he said, his voice soft and coaxing. "C'mere, boyo."

Jerry stayed next to me for several moments, wanting the treat but not yet sure about this newcomer. Murphy held his hand closer to the floor, kept still, and carefully avoided eye contact, making himself as unthreatening as possible and waiting patiently. Jerry hesitated, then slowly moved forward, head down and ears back. He sniffed delicately at Murphy's hand and his ears swiveled around before he made up his mind and took the treat.

Murphy smiled and kept his hand out, and Jerry ended the exchange by nudging him with his head and rubbing his face against Murphy's fingers.

"Congratulations," I told him. "You're one of his gang now. He'll come to you whenever his bowl is empty, he's bored, or he wants attention. You see?" I added as Jerry started winding himself around Murphy's ankles.

Connor returned from the kitchen balancing two bowls of soup and a glass of water, setting the water on the coffee table in front of me and handing one of the bowls to his brother. "Murph's at it again with the cats," he commented, sitting back down.

"A fellow cat lover?" I asked, reaching for the water and taking a grateful swallow.

"Aye. 'Bout drove our ma off her fuckin rocker, feedin every stray in the village til they started followin him everywhere an' folks started callin him the pussy whisperer."

I nearly choked on the water. Murphy flushed with embarrassment but restricted himself to giving Connor a dirty look before reaching down to pet Jerry. "Does this lad have a name?" he asked.

"Jerry," I replied.

"As in Seinfeld?"

"You're joking. As in Jeremy, the Pearl Jam song, until Corrie kept calling him Jerry by accident and it stuck."

"Accident?"

"So she says. Of course, she thinks the song is morbid, so I don't know if I believe her..."

"Well, he's a handsome one, whatever ye call him."

"Oh, he knows, trust me."

"Is he a cuddler?"

"Sometimes. I'd say the pussy whisperer's chances are pretty good."

Connor burst out laughing and Murphy raised his eyebrows in surprise, but I saw a smile as he leaned down to scoop the cat into his lap. If he was surprised, he had nothing on me. I was fairly certain it was the first crude joke I'd made in front of either of them, and while I could argue it was because I was in my own space where I was the most comfortable, the fact that I was comfortable with them being in my space to start with was noteworthy - to me, at least.

I glanced from one to the other, Connor flipping through the channels and Murphy scratching Jerry's chin - didn't take long for my other roommate to direct him to his favorite spot - and it was kind of funny to me. The awkward date whose calls I never returned and the guy who saw me home after a fluke night out, hanging out in my living room and content to babysit me through the cold they gave me in the first place. Funnier still, I was content to let them.

I guess that meant they were part of my gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette


End file.
